In search of a better quality of life, fulfilling our dreams to see the world and provide ourselves and young children with invaluable experiences, we sold our home and possessions in London to begin our journey of a lifetime.
Here we will share our tips, stories, successes and failures, not only for our families and friends, but also to assist those who may have similar adventures in mind. We hope also to inspire those who relish the idea of travelling to newer and unfamiliar pastures but do not know how and those who require some evidence it can be done.

Pregnant Abroad

15 April 2012

I FEEL like crying when I think about my daughter's first birthday. Already so much has happened in her little life. I can hardly believe a year has passed. Having Kobra in my life is one of the most magical gifts I have ever received. Even her arrival story is quite a spectacular one…

We were living in Piracanga, an eco village in Bahia, Brazil. The air was heavy with expectancy. There were three ladies heavily pregnant, two of whom were due any day, like me. The community was also preparing for an Avatar course. Many outsiders had come to participate and just as many community members were planning on attending.

Adding to the weight of the already soupy environment was the slight discrepancy over who would be permitted to attend my birth. Allow me to digress to two months prior to Kobra's arrival for a moment to fill in some of the background details.

While we were in Piracanga there was one senior midwife who served the community. I met her briefly, shortly after our arrival to Piracanga. It was during that one encounter with her that the seed of doubt was planted in me. Could I trust this woman to be present at my birth in the way I needed her to be?

Then stories of other births that had taken place in Piracanga began to pour in - birth stories that I knew I didn't want for myself or my baby. I knew exactly what I needed in the persons attending my birth. Also, on a very deep level, I intuited (I mean I literally felt with every parcel of my being) how this birth would unfold.

Unfortunately, I don't think it is very common knowledge that those who surround a birthing woman have an enormous impact on how she will birth. So to be absolutely sure that I would not be adversely affected during my process I had to know that my midwife would be fully on board with my wishes.

There was also the minor detail of whether she would actually be in Piracanga. She was a highly experienced and sought-after midwife who travelled almost continuously. So would she really be there in the moment of need?

These weren't the thoughts I wanted swirling away in my head weeks before I was due to give birth. Faced with these impossible questions, I turned to one of my dearest friends in the UK, a natural birth and mothering advocate. She promptly posted me her book Birthkeepers. It couldn't have arrived at a better time. I devoured the book in 48 hours and felt ultra-confident with my birthing position - to go it alone without a midwife.

I am sure that must sound ludicrous, possibly irresponsible to some, but this is my story related to my body and baby. I knew my baby and body better than anyone. I also know what a woman's body is capable of given the right circumstances (I had this experience with Zenchai's birth, too).

I felt relieved that a decision had been made. I could just get on with the late days of pregnancy. Well, so I thought.

Of course word spread, as it does in small communities, about my 'lawless' decision. This for very obvious reasons raised the hairs on many peoples' backs. I held my ground firmly. The bones in my body told me how my birth would be (these are the same bones that told me when I first met Claude we would make children together). I was not afraid.

I reluctantly agreed to meet with the midwife once more (interpreter on hand as her English was limited and my Portuguese abysmal). The encounter was rather peculiar. She got out her laptop and showed us pictures and videos of births she had attended. I guess she was trying to show us examples of her work. But most of the images I found unsettling. She was the prominent focus of every photo, gloved hands reaching in and taking babies from beneath their mothers, like a heroine. The video I could hardly watch. I was feeling even more strongly that she was not the right match for me.

Then she packed her computer away and got up to leave like we had signed the agreement she would attend the birth. It was an awkward moment, but I called her back. It was not the kind of birth I wanted (by the way, I think I should mention for those that don't know me very well, that I am not anti-midwife, but I had very strict criteria that needed to be met).

After she sat back down, I did a little air-clearing. I expressed to her precisely what I wanted in a midwife. If she was willing to abide then we had a deal. But, again deep down, I wasn't sure I would need her. I knew this baby was going to come fast. Claude and I, often in semi-jest, talked about how there would be no time to get her when I went into labour and I would have my freebirth as I truly wished.

Once again with things ironed out, I relaxed into the idea of enjoying my last few weeks of carrying a baby in my womb, after all this could be the last time. Just as the dust nearly settled, I came down with two staph infections on my foot.

They started out as insect bites. I must have gone crazy scratching them, causing them to become infected. It all happened very quickly. I began properly cleaning the wounds as were the resident doctor's orders. But a week had gone by and they were getting worse, in particular the one above my ankle. It had turned into a gaping wound at least the size of an American quarter.

I was adamant that I didn't want to take antibiotics, especially so late in my pregnancy. This is when a medicine lady appeared. I began undergoing treatments with her. But it was by far the most excruciating thing I have ever felt. Each day for sometimes hours she pulled away the diseased flesh from my skin with her bare fingers. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I would wonder why all this was happening and what my poor baby must be feeling.

Everything had gone very bleak. I was at my lowest point. Would this infection heal so I could focus on giving birth?

I was laid-up almost continually, trying to recover and not feel the agonising pain of my wounds. Self-reproach was another common emotion. I desperately wanted to be playing and interacting with Zenchai before our lives changed forever, not some housebound invalid.

I was now days away from my due date. Something had to give. After very careful consideration, I decided to use very small amounts of antibiotic cream on my wounds. I was still receiving daily cleanings from our resident doctor and my midwife. Both were pleased with the progress we had started to make by using the cream. The wounds were getting smaller and less painful. As a reward for progress made, I was allowed a swim in the river (I had been dying to swim in the beautiful waters, to float and be without gravity, something I hadn't enjoyed for at least three weeks). Zenchai and I zipped merrily down to the river at low tide, our favourite time, when the water was warm and red in colour. We played and splashed. I felt like a new woman.

Returning to the beginning of the story, the air in Piracanga was feeling hot, salty and pregnant with expectation. It was three days until the full moon. The midwife had predicted that one of us with buns in the oven would be ready to pop with magnetism of the full moon upon us.

It was a normal day. I had been feeling emotional, so decided to take a nap in the hammock. The doctor came to check and clean my wounds as usual. He asked how I was and when I tried to explain I felt all fuzzy in my head. We both put it down to my body trying to fight the infection and the heat of the day. Later a friend came by to offer me a massage. Feeling blue, the timing was right. She lovingly rubbed my shoulders, head and back and ended it by giving me deeksha. After such a treat, I felt so much better.

That evening we were going to another friend's for a bonfire party. Before we went, Claude, Zenchai and I had a quick meal up on one of the top sun decks, enjoying a splendid sunset. At dusk we made our way to the fire. Everyone was there. It was buzzing (by Piracanga standards). I saw the midwife there. She was drinking a caiporienha (typical Brazialian alcoholic beverage). I whispered in a joking way that I hoped I wasn't the one going into labour that night!

Popcorn was being served and as I took a handful of it I thought "I am not sure I want to eat this. I really love popcorn, but if I go into labour I will be sure to throw this up and go off it for quite sometime." I indulged anyway. It was only a small chance that I would go into labour that night, right?

It was getting late and we needed to get Zenchai to sleep, so we began our walk along the moonlit paths back to our house. We bumped into a couple of visitors who were lost and trying to find their way back to their lodgings. As we showed them the way, the woman asked when I was due. I casually replied "Oh, any time now."

We all crawled into bed and retired for the night. It didn't feel like I was in bed long when I woke-up with that all-too-familiar late pregnancy sensation that my bladder required urgent attention. As I trundled over Zenchai, I wasn't sure if I would make it to my bucket (strategically placed near our bed so I wouldn't have to climb my way down the stairs each night to wee amongst any potential creepy crawlies).

Immediately after I got out of bed I knew things were happening. I got my sleepy head straight and woke Claude from his slumber. He needed to begin preparing my birthing space ASAP. I walked out to our balcony overlooking our garden glowing under the moon's light. I bent over the railing and had a very strong contraction. My rushes were coming thick and fast. I decided to reach down and feel my bits. The sensation was unreal. It was like I had found the baby eject button. If I didn't move my hand back to the railing then this baby was for sure going to shoot straight out of me right there and then.

I mumbled to Claude that I was going to make my way to the bathroom. I wanted to evacuate before this baby really came. I made it to the landing just in time for another powerful surge. I caught my breath and made it to the bathroom. By this point I was very vocal. Later we were told most of the village could hear my primal sounds.

I sat on the toilet. Oh, the relief to be sat there. I was having a continuous flow of rushes. Claude very meekly tried to persuade me to come off the toilet as we had an agreement that under no circumstances was I to birth on the toilet again (Zenchai was born on the toilet and I believed I had torn in that labour due to the circulation not flowing properly). I am not sure if I answered him. But he promptly began bringing the birthing mats and paraphernalia from upstairs to the bathroom floor.

Claude then gently aided me to the floor. I got on my knees and gripped the sink counter for dear life. This baby was coming and fast. My body was bearing down and at the same time the skies opened and began bearing down sheets of rain. I reached down once more to feel myself and there was the head. It felt like nothing I have ever touched. It was wet and squidgy. My thinking brain was long gone. I began to semi-panic. Calling out "what is this I am feeling?" I felt like I had been shouting for help for hours. I just couldn't connect the dots that it was my baby's head.

I felt as if I was alone in the bathroom with only faint candle light even though Claude was actually right behind me. I peered out the door of the bathroom and saw a shadow. It was not Claude's. I knew we were alone in the house. I could feel my eyes getting small. I felt like a leopard protecting her den and began shouting "Who is that? Who is here?" Claude appeared before me and told me that the midwife had gotten word that I was in labour and that she was there. (An apprentice midwife had been camping on the neighbour's land and heard my noises. She made a split-second decision to get the midwife to me in top speed.)

I relaxed and put away my claws. My focus was once more back to this baby emerging from me. Prior to labour I told Claude that I wanted to be the one to receive our baby, the first one to touch him/her, as he was the one who caught Zenchai.

But this baby was on rocket fuel. I could not let go of the counter. I needed help and pretty damn quick! Claude motioned for the midwife to come in. And within seconds of her crouching below me our baby had entered the world.

She handed our slippery baby to me. I leaned on my heels and held her close. I was in shock. Everything had happened so rapidly. It felt like an eternity before I properly looked to see if we had a girl or boy. Just as I had dreamed, we had had a healthy, plump girl. I quickly asked the assistant midwife what the time was. She checked her watch. It was 11.30pm. I noted she was born on the 15th and not the 16th.

Within 10 minutes of her arrival my afterbirth came just as speedily. And as I looked down at my baby's placenta, I was half-surprised to find it wasn't another baby. Part of me had thought that maybe there were two in my womb. The midwife took a tiny piece of the placenta and offered it to me to eat. I refused (this had been another sticky topic with her as she was adamant that women should eat a bit of their placenta for all its healing powers).

I held my bundle firmly as our midwife and her assistant checked me over for tearing and despite not birthing on the toilet I still tore. She expertly stitched me by torchlight, then helped to shower me and got me ready to bed down with my new baby girl.

Claude and I had planned to lotus birth her (allowing the umbilical cord to fall away naturally instead of cutting it), but as I got into bed that night, for the second time I had visions of ants blanketing us to get to the placenta. We spoke with her about what was going to happen and then allowed the midwife to cut the cord.

The midwife and her assistant left. Claude and I looked at each other in astonishment. Had we really just had a baby? We had already decided that if we had a girl her name would be Kobra.

That night I slept with Kobra, listening to the continual rain falling. I remember waking up once and having to remind myself that I had a baby in bed with me.

The next morning Zenchai had the surprise of meeting his new sister. He had slept through the whole affair but was rather pleased to have a new sibling.

When the midwives returned we spoke about the night's events. Apparently, the assistant midwife's watch had broken and she had told us the wrong time of birth. Our clock had stopped working, too. So she asked around the village to find out if anyone noted the time they heard me stop making sounds and Kobra's first cry. They concluded that it was around 12.30am, so she indeed was born on the 16th not the 15th. But a huge part of me really thinks she was born on the 15th. I guess we'll never know for certain.

We then deduced that Kobra's birth was between 30-45 minutes from start to finish. She really was in a hurry to meet us.

This was also the time when the midwife offered me once again to eat a piece of placenta. She was very concerned for me, especially as I still had the two staph infections. She did not want it to get worse or spread to the baby. I reluctantly agreed to have some but only if it could be blended with some acai (berries) to hide the colour and taste.

Claude was delighted to take up his place in the kitchen. He made me a placenta smoothie, which I drank without any hiccups. The coconut milk and acai totally drowned out any possible placenta taste. And, for the record, my staph infections went away almost immediately after I gave birth - no doubt due to Claude's culinary wizardry.

So in the end everything happened harmoniously. Kobra's birth was extraordinary on so many levels. And everything worked out superbly with the midwife.

Today, I give special honour to my little rocket baby, Kobra Rain Abrams. Already at one you are a reservoir of bliss, joy and happiness. I love you with all of my heart. Happy Birthday baby!

02 August 2011

THE Brazilian authorities have been giving us the runaround. For instance, it took us over two months just to get Kobra's birth certificate!

First time I turned up to register Kobra's birth at the Forum (like a town hall in England), I was told that Jamie and I needed both our birth certificates (in Brazil documents for identification always include your parents' names). And when I went back with them at a later date, the lady working in the office was on vacation and, incredibly, no-one had been brought in to replace her.

Finally, we got it done, but not without a few spelling mistakes, which is something we now have to live with. The aggravation that comes with having it changed is too much.

However, the matter of legalising our stay in Brazil has been even more challenging. For starters, we have to travel to Ilheus, about two hours away by car. This not only means taking the whole family over the bumpy road from Piracanga to Itacare, but, because the Police Federal are open only from 9-11am, the journey each time begins at the crack of dawn.

As I wrote in our blog on extending our visa, we were three days late first time visiting Police Federal (because Jamie had given birth and was advised not to travel) and were handed a fine and told to fill in forms, pay the penalty, return with Kobra's birth certificate etc.

Because getting her registered took so long, our return to Ilheus was delayed. We finally planned the trip, got up at 5.30am, left Piracanga at 7am and arrived in Ilheus just after 9am.

We had to have passport-size photos taken and then photocopies of every page in our passports. Armed with these, we went to a small internet shop opposite Police Federal that prepares your papers (at a cost). But their printer had broken down.

The clock was ticking while I waited for the owner to return with the printer. And finally, at 10.30am, she did. However, she struggled for about 15 precious minutes to install the cartridge. Florian, our Romanian friend who drove us to Ilheus, finally helped her, but we were left with only 10 minutes to spare by the time it was installed.

Quickly, she printed off our documents and I paid R130 per application (R390 in total).

Then we dashed across the road to Police Federal and waited some more - until it was our turn.

And when we got to see someone, he looked through our papers, decided Zenchai had to apply separately but not immediately, and that our paperwork hadn't been completed properly.

Just as happened on our first visit, Police Federal gave us no leeway. "We can't do it today," he said. "There's no time." He basically said to come back when everything was together in the right order and moved on to the next and final customer in line.

So, after he closed his door on us, we departed and contemplated staying the night in Ilheus and returning the next day.

But we found Ilheus much too hectic - a real bombardment on the senses, especially with two young children - and, anyhow, it would be cheaper to return to Piracanga and try again another time.

We waited another month before the right opportunity came our way and made the long journey again. This time we went straight to the internet office across the street, made sure our papers were in order and then across the road to Police Federal.

Despite all you hear about preferential treatment for pregnant mothers and mothers of newborns, it doesn't apply at Police Federal in Ilheus. We waited again several hours for our turn. Then the officer in charge took away our papers, returned several minutes later and, surprise surprise, told us we needed to pay more fines before the application could begin.

Why the officer hadn't pointed this out on our last visit I do not know. But it transpired that since our first fine we had accumulated more illegal time, amounting to R753.25 each (for Jamie and myself). That's about £295.

So we left again, this time wondering whether proceeding further - given we don't know if we will return to Brazil after we leave and fines are only paid on re-entry after you depart the country - is actually worth it.

However, here are some tips for foreigners applying in Ilheus for temporary Brazilian residency.

13 July 2011

I REALLY haven't had (until now) the opportunity to tell my tale of how Nadia, the indigenous medicine woman, came to me.

It all started with an innocent puncture wound on my heel and an insect bite on my ankle. The two wounds quickly became infected and our Piracanga doctor promptly taught me how to clean them with hydrogen peroxide and iodine.

However, after about a week there was no improvement. In fact, they had become much worse. In my very pregnant state this was a major concern for all of us.

On the day Nadia appeared I had stayed home instead of going up to the restaurant for lunch. I was laying in our hammock feeling sorry for myself. Tears were pouring out of my eyes when I recalled a certain passage from the popular book, Eat, Pray, Love.

In the book the author had injured her knee while in Bali. Like here, the humidity can make most minor wounds difficult to heal. Anyway, to cut a long story short, a medicine woman helped her recover with the use of local plants.

As the tears rolled down my cheeks all I could think about was how there had to be a way to heal my wound using plants. It just did not make any sense to me that there wasn't a leaf somewhere in my garden or the forest that could help.

Literally five minutes from having this thought Claude and Zenchai arrived home telling me an indigenous medicine woman was coming to help clean my wounds.

I wiped my wet face with the back of my hands, pulled myself out of the hammock and by the time I got down the stairs there she was - with about five other people from the Piracanga community.

Nadia had come to Piracanga to do a massage course. She had been told about my situation and immediately came to me. Nadia had a lot of experience treating staph infections in her community.

After assessing my infections, she sent the various people out to collect plants and supplies so she could begin the cleansing process.

As we sat there waiting for the people to return with the bits and pieces, I fell in love with her.

I felt safe, protected and nurtured immediately upon meeting her. She had an amazing presence that was enhanced by the tribal paint on her face, the colourful feathers in her hair and the handcrafted jewelry that bedecked her.

Each day that she was here (in Piracanga), she took time out of her course (even though the tutors were not happy about it) to care for me.

She prepared a herbal bath for my foot using arueira leaves then she would clean the puss from the staph using cotton or gauze and the auira water. This was almost always very painful.

On one occasion she performed what could only be described as finger surgery. In the most sensitive way possible Nadia would pull the infected flesh off.

This was by far the most excruciatingly painful thing I have ever felt. After all the cleaning, she would apply an aloe vera cream her mother had made. Nadia had also prepared a tincture using resin from a tree producing mescaline, which had to brew for a minimum of seven days before it could be used.

By that point my infections weren't getting any better, but hadn't got any worse. I was at a crossroads on my journey to regaining my health and with so many factors to consider, I finally decided to use antibiotic cream.

The antibiotic cream and cleansing regime was no walk in the park either. By the time Kobra arrived, both wounds were nearly closed. My midwife finished the process by cleaning them with a nailbrush and coconut soap, followed by pure tobacco and an Amazonian tincture.

However, when I found out Nadia was returning to Piracanga to teach a course on medicinal plants, I knew I would attend.

26 June 2011

HANDSTANDS, cartwheels, forward rolls…I couldn't do them when I was a kid and more supple. What hope did I have now?

That was the thought that surged through my mind initially when challenged with the idea of trying capoeira, a traditional Brazilian martial art/dance.

I'd watched it being performed in the squares of Salvador and it being practiced in Buenos Aires, Argentina and on beaches in Ecuador. It looked fun - and amazingly acrobatic at times.

Not being especially flexible, I shied away at trying. Jamie had always wanted to give it a go, but it wasn't possible after she became pregnant and then gave birth to Kobra.

The opportunity to learn the art instead came my way. I said yes, mainly to encourage Zenchai to try. However, I've ended up being a regular and Zenchai, who loves to show off his capoeira skills in the streets, has only dabbled at it.

It's an excellent workout, particularly on the legs and shoulders. Now I am doing cartwheels and high kicks, sort of. Zenchai and I have been going twice a week and we are trying to encourage others in the eco village to participate.

To those who aren't familiar with it, capoeira was introduced to Brazil by African slaves in about the 16th century. There are two main styles, Mestre Bimba, which is more of what I have been taught, and Angola, which is slower and practiced lower to the ground.

The slaves used capoeira as a way of defending themselves but also to keep their morale high and preserve their culture. In 1892 it was even outlawed for 20 years (though some claim it was even longer). The punishment if caught doing capoeira was to have your Achilles tendons severed!

Zenchai and I visited a famous capoeira academy in the old part of Salvador and watched and listened as one of the teachers played music and talked to us.

Capoeira is now a national sport in Brazil although it's not competitive. It feels more like play and the idea is to keep moving - never be a still target.

Usually, you will see demonstrations of capoeira in city squares. Be warned in Salvador, though (especially in the Old Town), that if you try to take photos someone will likely approach you for some money. You may also be invited to participate!

30 May 2011

OUR original idea was to visit Brazil for five months. We've been here for four already. But we feel as though we have unfinished business.

There were admittedly moments, particularly in late March and April when we all had staph infections and then Kobra and I had bijou de pes, when we considered leaving early. But I am glad we stuck it out. In reality, we had little choice. Jamie was in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Where were we going to go?

Then in mid-April Jamie gave birth to Kobra almost exactly how we had planned and imagined it. Kobra's an adorable addition to the family.

So, having weighed up the pros and the cons, we have decided to remain in Brazil for longer - at least until the end of November.

It affords us more time to deliberate where we want to go afterwards on our world adventure and what we would like to do. There are many factors for us to consider now.

Kobra is only six weeks old. We don't want to begin travelling again when she is so young. Having hopped from one country to another throughout 2010, it's been nice - and important - to have some stability.

Piracanga, where we are, is a beautiful place for children. Each day Kobra hears and feels nature. There is next to no pollution. We take her to the river and ocean regularly. She feels the warmth of the sun, the sounds of the birds and the rain. We even sleep in the open, without walls.

Zenchai, who just celebrated his fifth birthday, is in school and doing well despite continued resistance. He has established more of a connection with the local children. He speaks more Portuguese. We want him to have the chance to perfect his Portuguese and to enjoy the surroundings that he has made home. But he is forging friendships with some of the English-speaking kids, too.

Zenchai has also made firm relationships with many of the adults. It's important for him to have strong role models.

He still has his fears and concerns, like any child, but I like the fact that he can wonder around freely at such a young age without Jamie and I having to watch his every move or worrying about his safety.

For Jamie and I it feels great to have a sense of community. The people here have been amazing. Some live here full-time, while others come and go.

Although we have been here only a short time and miss our good friends in England, we feel more connected than at any time when living in London.

There's also the cost of living to consider. It is considerably less here than in the big cities. Of course, our lifestyle is more simple. But talking to one of our village friends the other day, we discussed how people happily spend thousands of pounds each year to enjoy a week or two in a location like this for their annual vacation to relax from the daily grind in the city. We're lucky to be living here every day!

Piracanga isn't for everyone, though. It's not perfect - and where is? But it has grown on me. I really feel as if I have only just arrived. Most of my time here has revolved around childcare and assisting Jamie. The moments I have had bonding with Kobra have been remarkably precious. Having her sleep in my arms for hours, smelling her, looking at her and feeling her vibration has been such a joy.

Yet beyond family life there is more I would like to do, experience and accomplish before leaving Piracanga. For instance, I started some voluntary work on the Agroforestry project, but had to stop when I had my staph infections. Then came Kobra and my mother arrived in May for a month. So I have been preoccupied.

But once she returns to England (in June), I intend to get my hands mucky again.

Jamie is still adapting to our rugged lifestyle. Winter has brought a (relative) chill in the night-time we never anticipated. She feels the cold more than I do. The mosquitos and bugs seem less troublesome, but I know Jamie would prefer to spend less of her time protected under a mosquito net.

Still, what we have to complain about doesn't compare with what this place has to offer. Anyhow, I have come to adopt the attitude of focusing on what feels and is positive and not what is negative.

06 May 2011

My mummy told me that I was conceived on the shores of magical water: the Adriatic Sea, on a small island of Croatia in a tiny village called Kukljica where my daddy used to visit to spend his childhood summers.

She and my father both believe a name is like a mantra. It should have a nice vibration, sound and meaning. But my mother couldn't think of a girl's name that fulfilled this criteria and she was convinced all along that I was a girl. You can imagine the distress (as my arrival neared) that she felt.

However, one afternoon while sitting on the edge of the Piracanga ocean watching and listening to the crash and roar of the waters she felt inspired.

My mum wanted a name that would honour my place of conception and birth. She started playing with the letters of Kukljica, Croatia and Brazil. In her mind, she scattered them and reorganised them, trying to create a suitable name.

Then the lightbulb went on. She took the 'K' from Kukljica, the 'O' for the sound in Croatia and the 'BRA' from Brazil and combined them to make Kobra.

She looked up from her place in the sand and said to my daddy, "I've got it! Kobra. What do you think?"

My daddy liked it. I even gave a kick of approval from the womb.

My parents still weren't completely convinced I should be Kobra, but then as all things happen for a reason and guide us all to a higher sense of knowing, they began seeing signs.

The first confirmation was when a book arrived for my mummy all about freebirth. What was interesting was that all of the artwork in the book was surrounded by drawings of snakes. And at the very front was the spiritual explanation of the snake as a totem.

In the spiritual world the snake represents the sloughing off of the old and rebirth or transmutation to the new. The snake also has a magnetic resonance with Mother Earth and snake spirit guides teach ways to peer into the hearts of others and find ways to assist them on their spiritual paths. I think my mummy and daddy liked that.

Then the following day my big brother and mummy went on a nature walk in the forest, where they spotted their first Brazilian snake.

By this time they were feeling more confident with the name Kobra.

However, more "signs" were shown. In the house where I was to be born there were snakes painted on two different walls - they hadn't noticed these before.

Finally, one day my mother was contemplating me and connecting with me in the womb. She peered out into the garden to see a snake slithering across the path.

03 May 2011

In Brazil you are given a three-month stay as a tourist when you arrive. If you wish to remain for longer you must visit the Federal Police and apply before your visa expires.

We faced a tricky situation, though. Our visa expired on April 24. We couldn't have gone before Kobra's birth because Jamie was heavily pregnant. And we couldn't go immediately after Kobra was born because Jamie was told by our midwife not to walk for 15 days.

We also didn't want to take our 12-day-old daughter on a long journey by car to Ilheus, about two-and-a-half hours away. But we had no choice. Each applicant MUST appear in person.

To make the trip easier, we travelled the day before from Piracanga to Itacare by jeep. It's an extremely bumpy road and the journey was made more difficult by heavy rain flooding the roads.

Nonetheless, we made it and stayed the night in Itacare. Then early the next morning, helped by our friend Sam, who is staying in Piracanga near to us and speaks Portuguese, we made the hour-or-so drive to Ilheus to visit the police.

But it wasn't as straightforward as we had wished or the formality we had been told it would be. We sat in the waiting area for about an hour after presenting our passports and then were told to each pay fines of R24.83 (about £10).

However, instead of then informing us we could extend our visas, the policeman dealing with our case said we had to leave the country - until he noticed Jamie was holding a newborn baby!

He asked Kobra's age and then if we had a birth certificate. We didn't, having not yet registered her. So he said we had eight days in which to pay the fines and reappear with the certificate - or else the fines would start adding up (the maximum is R827.75 (for three months).

There was no flexibility, even when one policeman could see our predicament and requested some leniency be applied.

So we're now getting ready for the same journey again. Poor Kobra did tremendously well on her first excursion and trip by car, even if exposure to the noise and pollution of a city at her age was something we had hoped to avoid for much longer.

Returning to Piracanga, though, we felt relieved to be somewhere so peaceful and secluded, surrounded by nature and all its wonderful sounds and smells.

Abramsfamilyworldtravel tip: make sure you go early if you need to visit the Police Federal in Ilheus. The office closes at 11am.

30 April 2011

The birthing experience I shared with my wife for my second child in a remote eco village in Brazil would, I suspect, have been completely different had it not been for Veronika Sophia Robinson.

I trust wholeheartedly in her writing and what she has to say. Her words carry authority and integrity. They are delivered with knowledge, experience and sensitivity.

She is the editor and publisher of the superb magazine, The Mother, which is all about attachment parenting and raising children in an optimum way. Her book, The Birthkeepers, is specifically about freebirthing - giving birth the way nature had intended.

As she states in the subheading on the book's cover, Veronika writes about 'Reclaiming an Ancient Tradition'.

I had only a vague knowledge of freebirthing - from when Jamie had talked to me about it prior to the birth of Kobra. If I am honest, I had some initial concerns even if I was prepared to fully support my wife's choice. After all, I am from a generation that, largely due to television and media, has been taught that most women give birth on their backs in hospitals - and in great pain!

Since knowing Jamie, I have been educated to know it certainly doesn't have to be that way.

Jamie and I had contacted a respected midwife before we arrived in Piracanga. But, for whatever reason, as events unfolded, Jamie felt a preference to give birth by herself, alone.

That intuition was compounded when a package from England arrived a few days after Jamie had revealed to me her desire. It was a book. We didn't know precisely what it was about, but knew it had something to do with childbirth as it had come from Veronika.

It was all about freebirthing. I read it in next to no time, as did Jamie. The information was clear. And, most importantly, I connected with the function on every level. I felt secure and informed. I understood the role I needed to play.

Like Jamie, I found it empowering and inspiring. It was not just for prospective mums, but for dads-to-be also.

As Veronika says in the book's introduction, "I merely acted to remind them [women on unassisted birthing journeys] that they had everything within them they needed to birth their babies beautifully and gently into this world."

Jamie had a wonderful second birth, owed in large part to Veronika's guidance and mentoring. Her book magically arrived at a time when, due to various mishaps (infections etc), we were searching for direction and clarity. We're so grateful that it had.

18 April 2011

We had been out for the evening at a community gathering at a friend's house. Heading home, we saw some lost newcomers to Piracanga. Jamie got talking to them. They asked when the baby was due. Jamie said, "anytime now."

I'm not sure Jamie sensed that was literally the case or not. But she knew it was possible. I led the Brazilian couple towards their accommodation and returned home.

Later that night it rained hard. But I was in a deep sleep downstairs. Then Jamie, who was upstairs with Zenchai, came down to wake me up. She said she had to call my name several times.

"I think the baby is coming," she said to me. You "think" is what went through my head. Tired, I thought about dropping back to sleep until Jamie would summon me with more certainty.

Instead, though, I listened. I could hear her contractions. And, as they were with Zenchai, there was barely any respite between them. I knew the baby was coming - and Jamie went back upstairs and leaned against a wooden beam as the rushes came and went.

I took my list of things to do and got started, trying not to be noticed and avoiding any communication unless necessary. Jamie told me to set everything up in the bedroom. I put padding on the floor, a large rubbish bag on top and then a sheet. I lit candles, got her some water, started washing the birthing stool etc.

But then Jamie disappeared. She went (downstairs) to the toilet, as happened for Zenchai's birth. Not wanting to interfere in her process, I waited. And waited. Then I went downstairs and observed her, head down, eyes closed, rocking side to side.

This is Jamie's birthing hypnotic trance dance, where she goes internally and connects with all her birthing instincts. I knew she wasn't going to change location. So I gathered everything from upstairs and brought it down to the toilet.

I never felt any anxiety. I had total trust and faith in Jamie's ability to birth naturally and freely, as was her intention. Perhaps my only concern was when I saw her on the toilet. She'd briefed me to remind her not to stay in that position. She'd spent five hours like that before delivering Zenchai and it had cut off some of her circulation.

So, as discreetly and gently as possible, I reminded her to stand or move. She got on her knees and worked her body to the sensations going through her. There was no interference. It was perfect.

The rain continued outside, often heavily. I wasn't in a position to call Suely, our midwife. We decided to go it alone, as Jamie had always felt confident to do from the beginning. Jamie didn't scream, but she made more noise than at Zenchai's birth. It was more like intense howling or groaning.

Some of the residents (when I spoke to them) said it was a very primal sound. This was a primal experience for sure. I enjoyed observing/watching, just as I did my son's birth. I only ever see this powerful side of Jamie when she goes into labour. It's amazing. I could hear that the intensity was immense. Things were moving fast.

The rain continued to fall hard. I came towards the end of my check list. Barely 30 minutes had elapsed. Then, almost out of nowhere, Suely appeared. I wondered how she knew what was going on (our neighbour, also pregnant and about to give birth, had a trainee midwife camping on their land. She took the decision to alert Suely).

My first instinct was to protect Jamie's birthing space. I didn't want anyone, not even the midwife, to cause Jamie to lose focus. Like a startled animal, Jamie sensed Suely's presence.

"Who's there?" she called, worry coming from her voice. I whispered to her that it was Suely and there was nothing to worry about.

I asked Suely to stay out of sight unless needed (we had told her in prior birth meetings that we wanted no intervention).

The toilet proved the perfect spot for Jamie to birth. She felt secure and hidden and couldn't see anything in the darkness outside, where Suely watched and monitored.

Then we reached the climax. But Jamie somehow lost her rhythm - the only flaw in an otherwise amazing birth.

The head was emerging. She felt it with her hand, but seemed to not trust her senses. "Is it the head?" she asked rather frantically. "Help me!"

I told Suely what Jamie had said. Suely reacted quickly and reached down. Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, Suely presented my daughter, Kobra, in one swoop.

I took her and handed Jamie her daughter. Kobra wasn't as big or slippery as I recall Zenchai (who was upstairs, fast asleep) being, but she weighed more (8.5lbs).

After all we - particularly Jamie - had been through prior to the birth, I felt relieved to see Kobra, alive and well. Jamie needed some stitches. She tore. But she was well. The placenta followed soon after.

Jamie wanted a lotus birth, but after keeping the placenta attached for a few hours, she chose to cut the cord, more for practical reasons. From beginning to end - when contractions began to baby born - it could not have been more than an hour. It felt closer to 40 minutes.

I felt proud and in awe of my wife and the whole natural birthing process. Kobra is now the youngest member of the community. Feminine energy is strong here. Amazingly, she's the eighth consecutive girl to be born in Piracanga. Another two girls are on the way.

Kobra is calm. She has brought peace to our family. Zenchai is energetic. Kobra's presence, though, seems to have added a much-needed balance to our tribe.

11 April 2011

I CAN'T stress seriously enough the importance of not scratching mosquito bites when you live in the tropics.

For some reason no-one tells you this before you arrive. Or, more to the point, no-one warns you about how severe the consequences can be.

Instead, you are told to pack sun cream and keep your hair short to combat lice. But the real problem is staph.

Dealing with four staph infections at the same time isn't fun. And it's worse when your wife, about to give birth any day, has two on her legs and your son, who loves digging in the sand and generally getting dirty, has fought off four (on his arms and legs).

It got to the point when recently I had to cart around my wife (who had to keep her wounds free of sand) in a wheelbarrow to attend a community function.

Staph infections are common, highly contagious, potentially fatal and, like many bacteria, come in various strains. Getting rid of them is hard work - and tougher still if you, like us, prefer the natural options and to avoid antibiotics (especially the oral ones).

Here in Piracanga many people have had it, even the locals. The secret, though, is to avoid scratching bites (and thus opening the skin). If you do, though, keep the wound clean and take action quickly. Cut your fingernails short.

Preventing children from scratching is most difficult. But at least kids, particularly those over four, recover faster than adults.

Maintain a healthy diet that boosts your immune system and try to reduce stress.

There are many recommended solutions and ointments. But if you're about to travel to a tropical country, I'd suggest you take with you some hydrogen paroxide, gauze, tape, propolis, tea tree oil, iodine, manuka oil (if you can get it), oregano oil capsules, colloidal silver gel, probiotics and aloe vera.

There are other powerful and useful lotions, oils and ointments, but these are just a few we think could come in handy for a variety of accidents and infections.